


Battle Scars

by p_diyos



Series: Boxer AU [1]
Category: Heneral Luna (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, Alternate Universe - Sports, Comfort/Angst, Established Relationship, Implied Gang Violence, Implied Torture, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_diyos/pseuds/p_diyos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We’ve gone through hell and back - we’ve got the scars to prove it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Scars

**Author's Note:**

> This took me forever, but here is the boxer AU as promised! Happens in the same universe as hotaryu's on Tumblr, though this is on Miong and Pole's side. I had an entirely different idea for this story, but reading a lot of depressed!Steve and recovering!Bucky has led to this.
> 
> Enabled by Twitterland (ahem Myles) as usual!

_“Pole hasn’t been answering my calls all day. Have you seen him?”_

 

_“Uh…Miong…”_

 

_“Don’t give me that look. What do you know?”_

 

_“I need you to calm down first before I -“_

 

_“How can I be calm when you’re being so cryptic? If you know where he is, now it the time to spit it out.”_

 

_“I don’t…but I found this outside the gym this morning.”_

 

_*_

 

Miong jolted awake, his shirt sticking to his skin from sweat. His eyes darted around the dark room wildly, but all he could see was the fading mirage of a high-ceilinged warehouse, the blinding lights, the floor splattered with dark red. 

 

He clawed desperately for his gun on his side table, his stomach sinking fast and heartbeat racing faster than the speed of light as his fingers grasp nothing but cold air. He remembered only after a few more attempts that he hasn’t owned a gun in two years. 

 

He could feel himself shaking as he backed up against the headboard, but he couldn’t stop, _he couldn’t get away -_

 

Once the nightmares started, they never stopped.

 

*

 

There was once a time when Emilio “Miong” Aguinaldo viewed the world as an object that he could easily bend to his will. Ruling with fear and terror that sent chills to the bones of even the most unresponsive people, he was the king of the streets that viewed crime as an anomaly but he saw as never-ending opportunity. He had no reason to fear anything, because everything was under his control. 

 

Now, it seemed like karma had finally caught up with him. Every king, after all, had an end to his reign.

 

Miong had been in the cold, empty gym for hours, ever since he decided at 2AM that he wasn’t going to get any sleep. It was his way of life now - intensive training until he could no longer feel anything, or until the gym opened and the people started coming in, whichever came first. He found that he could no longer be in the same room with another person, especially strangers. It made his skin crawl and their voices were always loud, _too loud,_ always sounding like a threat even if they never mean it to be. It had been this way for days, for weeks since it happened. 

 

It helped that the owner gave him a spare key.

 

_“You owe us, or did you forget?”_

 

The events rolled through his mind without fail, always when he had a quiet moment to himself. Always at night, when he was alone. Always, when he thought he could move forward. Always when he was about to sleep. 

 

Which explained why he barely got any. 

 

_“I’m done with this, with people like you.”_

 

He exerted more power into his punches as his knuckles made contact with the dense punching bag, focusing more on keeping his form than the voices in his head. 

 

The voices however, never stopped. 

 

_“There is no leaving the gang scene, Miong. You took something valuable from us, and you know the rules. It’s only fair that we get something in return.”_

 

_Miong’s blood ran cold as they brought in a struggling Pole, hands tied behind his back and a scratch on his cheek, but otherwise safe and whole and undamaged. Their eyes met instantly, and Miong struggled wildly against the ropes and the men holding him in place, rage filling his veins._

 

His huffs grew louder as he shuffled from side to side. He tightened his fist, ignoring the beginnings of another tremor in his hands.

 

_They pushed Pole down and forced him to kneel just a few meters away from where he stood._

 

_Clemente Chacon stepped into the lone light, leering at him from behind Pole. “If the others could see me now…defeating the great leader of the Red Brigade. You took my honor from me; it’s only right that I get to return the favour.”_

 

Miong’s nails dug into his skin as he threw harder punches, the chain holding the bag protesting loudly against the force.

 

_“The best part is -“_

 

He remembered Pole gazing up at him, eyes wide and full of fear. 

 

_“- you get to watch the entire thing.”_

 

Miong landed a hard punch, causing the punching bag to disconnect from the ceiling and landing on the ground with a loud bang. The images and voices faded to a whisper in the wind, leaving him with a heavy weight against his chest. 

 

That was the third bag this month, and he blamed the rusty ceiling attachment for it. 

 

Now back in the present, he stopped and dragged himself to the nearest bench, his lungs filling with cool air as he willed his heartbeat to slow. He could fix up later.

 

He should have known that he would never have a moment of true peace from that then on. These nightmares were never going to stop haunting him, maybe until he finally went insane. He would always feel the hairs on his nape stand up wherever he went, as if he was being watched. 

 

He would always feel the sharp crack of the whip against his face. 

 

“I thought I’d find you here.”

 

Miong sat up at lighting speed, dread creeping on his back until he found the source of the voice. He exhaled loudly, hand clutching his chest as he watched as Pole’s lithe figure wheeled himself into the room. His calculating eyes assessed Miong as if he were a puzzling concept buried deep in his textbooks. Even until he stopped in front of him, he never looked away.

 

Miong wondered briefly what was on Pole’s mind. Maybe he saw someone who deserved what he got because of the stupid decisions he made in the past. He wondered if he saw nothing but the huge scar running across his face - the mangled monster that glared back at him when he looked at the mirror.

 

Breaking eye contact first, Miong opted to focus on his now slightly bloody hand wraps. “H-How’d you know where I was?” His voice sounded scratchy and weak from misuse, but if Pole noticed, he didn’t show it. 

 

“You’re either in your apartment or here.” His voice was pleasant to Miong’s ears, as clear as a bell compared to the usual deafening silence. “Not much guesswork needed.”

 

“Oh.” 

 

Silence floated around them as Miong fiddled with the edges of his wrap. He felt a little less shaky, a little more grounded, and his heartbeat was actually at normal, which was a rare luxury for him now. Pole always had the rare talent of calming him down. 

 

“Can I?” Pole asked, breaking the silence.

 

Rather than initiate contact as the others did (which lead to disastrous results, no matter how good the intention), he moved closer and held out his hands, palms up, waiting. Swallowing his nervousness, Miong reached out and slowly placed his shaky hands on his. 

 

Allowing himself a small smile, Pole gently took Miong’s hand in his, unfastening the now soiled wrap. Miong gradually, but eventually relaxed into his touch. 

 

“You haven’t been answering my calls again.” Pole said, slowly unravelling the wrap, the places where their skin touched sending electric currents throughout Miong’s body. “I would visit you in your apartment, but your building doesn’t have an elevator.”

 

“Sorry,” Miong mumbled, forcing himself to pay attention to Pole’s hands. His spacing out episodes happened far too often these days, and he really didn’t want Pole of all people to be frustrated at him for it. “My fault.”

 

Pole wrinkled his nose as he finished one hand, placing the wrap on his lap before beginning to unravel the other. “Unless you were the one who constructed the building, I don’t think the elevator is your fault.”

 

Miong shook his head. There was a world of words that he wanted to tell Pole, but he always found his throat clogged with guilt and regret. Now was _not_ the time for him to be speechless. 

 

Noticing his distress, Pole’s eyebrows furrowed. “What is it, Miong?”

 

Forcing himself to inhale and exhale deeply, he tried again. “You can’t visit me, and it’s my fault.”

 

Everything stilled for a moment, and Miong’s heartbeat was now roaring in his ears. He didn’t know what brought him to say that, maybe from weeks of isolation, maybe from loneliness - he was lonelier than he cared to admit. He wanted to run, he _needed_ to, he couldn’t handle this sorry excuse for a life that he fell into.

 

“Hey,” Pole whispered, setting Miong’s hand on his lap and reaching out to place his hands on either side of Miong’s face. “How many times do I have to tell you that it wasn’t your fault?”

 

Miong, rather than flinching, melted into his touch, placing his hands on either side of Pole’s, running his thumbs over his smooth skin. “Only a thousand times.”

 

Pole rolled his eyes. “Maybe you’d actually believe me if it _was_ a thousand times.”

 

“I-I just…” Miong could do this. He’s practiced this repeatedly in his head. “I just wish I could have done _something_. You didn’t deserve to be hurt because of me.”

 

“And you don’t deserve to hide away from the world because of it.” Pole countered. “Listen to me - I don’t blame you for anything. I’m alive, and so are you. That’s more than either of us could have asked for.”

 

“Alive?” Miong nearly choked. “You can’t walk, and I’m a monster _._ ”

 

Pole sighed, shaking his head. “This -“ He ran his thumb softly across his scar. “-isn’t who you are. No one thinks you’re a monster. I know that I don’t.”

 

Miong knows this. He’s been told in one way or another by anyone who has tried to talk to him after the incident, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to accept it, much less believe it. 

 

He could feel Pole’s hands trembling slightly against his skin. “You… _we_ can’t stop living our lives because of what happened.” 

 

And for the first time, Miong saw the brokenness in Pole’s eyes. He, who he believed to be perfectly whole and intact despite everything, seemed to be barely holding himself together. Yet here he was, with his words of motivation, purpose, and hope. He always knew that Pole was stronger than steel.

 

“Things…can never go back to the way they used to.” Miong whispered forlornly. 

 

“I know they won’t.” Miong’s eyes flickered to Pole’s face, and he saw the tinge of pain in his eyes at his declaration. “The only way to go now is forward.” He rested his forehead against Miong’s, still holding his face in his hands. “ _We_ can move forward.”

 

“I can’t do this alone anymore.”

 

Pole’s eyes softened even more. “You won’t be. You have me.”

 

Miong marveled at Pole, with his determined eyes gazing back at him, wondering what he did in his rotten life to deserve someone so genuinely and inherently _good_. “How did you get to be so strong?” He breathed. 

 

He only got a smile as answer, and Miong wouldn’t realize until later that day that Pole had been staring directly at him, as if _he_ were the answer. 

 

With a quick press of lips against his, Pole took his hands away and continued unfurling Miong’s wrap. “After this, you’re coming to my place for breakfast. Is that okay?”

 

And for the first time in months, Miong smiled, his heart feeling a little less heavy. 


End file.
